


Dinok do fin Dovahkiin

by vaultdweller12



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Unfinished Business, good guy Ahzidal, the dovakhiin is dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 14:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17768864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultdweller12/pseuds/vaultdweller12
Summary: AU. After living peacefully with his wife Lydia in Whiterun for over three decades, the Dragonborn is slowly succumbing to disease and old age. Knowing he has only days to live, the Dragonborn makes sure his legacy continues to live on.





	Dinok do fin Dovahkiin

There is a time of arriving and a time of leaving, just as a leaf is ripped from the branch of a tree by the cold and strong north wind, the snow that slowly melts as the radiant sun beams warms its cold exterior, so too must life make place for death. That silent presence, always lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting. No one can escape its cold grasp, even legends die.

The year is 4E 251, it’s been fifty years after the outbreak of the civil war that divided and nearly tore all of Skyrim apart. Only through the efforts of the Dragonborn was the province saved from Oblivion. The hero of Skyrim, once a war prisoner without a name was now the most well-known man in all the land. After years of fighting dragons and defeating the great Alduin himself, being herald and champion to almost all of the deadric princes and clearing out the local bandit population, the Dragonborn retired and passed some of his duties and responsibilities over to the next generation. He was still the leader of the thieves’ guild, the dark brotherhood and the companions but he let others handle the day to day operations. The Dragonborn had however resigned as Arch-Mage and appointed a new one in his stead. 

He and his wife Lydia, who had been his loyal housecarl and friend for all those years had withdrawn to live in their charming little home in Whiterun. For the past three decades they had lived in absolute bliss, but then the unthinkable happened, the Dragonborn fell ill to a high fever had and his condition worsened with each passing day. He already felt his soul slowly leaving his broken body, he could hear the sounds of pints of mead clanking, the songs of old that were sung in the hall of Valor. Sovngarde was calling.

But before he was granted access to bask in the glory of the mighty Shor, he needed to wrap up all his mortal business. He asked Lydia for a quill and a roll of paper and so the last testament of the Dragonborn was written. The daughter of Karliah and Brynjolf would lead the thief’s guild to further glory, she was the youngest thief to receive the blessing of Nocturnal in the history of the Nightingales.

The task of leading the dark brotherhood would be resumed by Babette, who despite her youthful appearance, had the experience of several lifetimes. Though the Night Mother had not yet appointed a new Listener, rumors were that Cicero’s son would likely be chosen once he came of age.

The Companions had their own way of coping with the news that their Shield-Brother and Harbinger was slowly succumbing to his disease. Instead of grieving they held a great feast in his honor, the mead and wine flowed royally and the feast lasted till sunrise. Some citizens who had attended the feast swore they heard a lone wolf howling inside the city’s walls but this was quickly dismissed as a case of too much spicy wine. Aela’s son who she had named Skjor after her fallen comrade, would be the next harbinger.

Fortunately, the Dragonborn had already arranged a new Arch-Mage. He could still remember the first time he set foot in Winterhold and heard rumors about the mysterious College of Whispers. The College that was both shunned and feared by most, until the latest applicant came to learn and master the Arcane arts and who rose to the position of Arch-Mage in a couple of months. After that the Dragonborn had managed to give the College a better reputation and even succeeded to turn Winterhold into a bristling, lively city, when only a few years ago, the city was on the brink of extinction, since many of its citizens had left to the province’s other holds.

_Flashback:_

The Dragonborn had announced that he would resign as Arch-Mage, as he was too busy enjoying his retirement. He would however appoint a new successor within a few days. Everyone was curious to see who would become the next Arch-Mage, some said that one of the monks from the Psijic order would be the most logical choice since they had already interfered in the cataclysm that almost destroyed the College and Winterhold in the process. To say that everyone was surprised when the Dragonborn presented the next Arch-Mage would be an understatement, shocked would be a better word. A man named Ahzidal would lead the College for the next few decades. The Dragonborn had sent word ahead to the College that he would need to prepare some things before the man’s arrival and that Ahzidal would join them shortly, he had boarded the Northern Maiden in Solstheim three days ago and was expected to arrive in Winterhold in a few hours. 

Most of the townsfolk had gathered in the center of town to welcome their newest resident. The Dragonborn had gone ahead to meet his friend and the two of them had arrived in town after a short hike. The townspeople gasped for air and one of the older women in the back fainted, for the ‘man’ standing next to the Dragonborn was floating a few inches above the ground, dressed in green robes which were covered by a bronze armor, complete with a mask that concealed his face.

Some of the local Nords had heard stories of the men who served and worshipped the dragons in the great Dragon War and who were granted privileges and stature but were cursed for their betrayal, they would forever walk the earth as undead. Surely the Dragonborn had no intention of letting this vile creature stay with them.

‘ _Drem yol lok, nii los dii genazend wah grind pruzah joriin do Gevildseod ahst laat, ahk lingrah lost Zu'u kosaan nusaan nol dii vahzah hofkiin’. Greetings, it is my pleasure to meet the good people of Winterhold at last, for too long have I been gone from my true home.’_

The Dragonpriest had spoken yet no one had understood what he had said. The crowd whispered amongst themselves, wondering why the Dragonborn would play such a low trick on them.

‘Forgive Ahzidal, he hasn’t yet mastered the Cyrodiilic tongue perfectly. He said he is delighted to meet the people of Winterhold, for it has been many years since his eyes have laid rest on his homeland’. The Dragonborn who had been studying the Dragon language translated Ahzidal’s words for the town.

One of the women stepped forward from the crowd, it was the current Jarl of Winterhold, Jarl Freyja Sword-Maiden.

‘Forgive us Dragonborn, but we do not understand why you have brought this _creature_ here. Surely you do not expect us to allow it to live here in Winterhold with the rest of us?’ Jarl Freya spoke with a stern voice, she would demand answers for herself and the safety of her people.

‘Not exactly, he will take over my position of Arch-Mage. Ahzidal and his entourage will live in the College and will only set foot in Winterhold when it is required for their duties’.

One of the guards standing in front of the Jarl’s longhouse muttered something that sounded like ‘damn mages’ under his breath.

The Dragonborn either hadn’t heard the snidy remark or didn’t care.

‘As I was saying Ahzidal will be bound to the grounds of the College and a part of Winterhold, he will also protect the College and Winterhold from any threats, be they from the outside or inside.’

‘I’m sure he isn’t doing any of this out of the goodness of his hearth, if he even has one.’ The Jarl remarked.

‘Ahzidal and I have come to an agreement, I won’t elaborate on the details but he has reasons that are his own to agree to this arrangement.  As long as he keeps his end of the deal, he may stay in the College for as long as he likes. He’s also personally guaranteed me that no one will be harmed in any way while he is here.’  

Jarl Freyja sighed and rubbed her forehead, she could feel a massive headache coming. ‘Very well, Dragonborn, we shall trust in your judgement, it’s the least we could do after all you have done for Skyrim and the people of Winterhold.’

The Dragonpriest who hadn’t moved or spoken since his first greeting suddenly spoke up in his booming voice.

_‘Nox hi fah hin sahvot mindoraan, Zu'u fent ni vosotiiv hi uv naan strin wah hi’.  Thank you for your faith and understanding, I shall not disappoint you or any close to you.’_

‘Ahzidal, is thankful for your faith in him, he will not disappoint you or the people of Winterhold. I’ll help him get settled and then I must be off, I have other duties that need tending. I’m sure everything will sort out just fine.’

And so after saying his final regards the Dragonborn left Winterhold in a state of confusion and dismay. Ahzidal had already departed to the College and the rest of the townspeople were still wondering if everything that had just transpired was the result of something Sheogorath, the prince of madness had come up with. 

For the next few weeks Winterhold was slowly adapting to their newest residents. The Dragonpriest had brought a dozen draugr with him whose tasks were maintaining his new residence, guard duty, and generally frightening the hell out of people. 

The draugr who patrolled the borders of the College generally chose to walk beside one of the hold’s guards much to the guard’s disdain. The draugr didn’t speak a word which made the patrols even more grim than usual. After a while the guards became used to the undead presence even though no words were exchanged.

One day, the draugr that was supposed to be on guard duty appeared later than usual. The guard who was scheduled to patrol that day was somewhat worried, since his companion seemed quite punctual for an undead. The draugr eventually showed up a few minutes later with what appeared to be an arrow sticking in his knee. It didn’t seem to bother him much which made the situation even more comical. The guard didn’t know whether to burst out in laughter or help the poor fellow.

‘You know I used to be an adventurer like you, but then I took an arrow to knee.’

The draugr smiled, well as much as one can smile without lips. Perhaps this guard duty wouldn’t be so boring after all. People were beginning to become more tolerant towards their new neighbors, but they didn’t realize how fortunate they were until disaster struck.

The Jarl’s youngest son Svenrn had been bitten by a venomous snake while playing with some of his friends. The boy had been suffering of a severe headache and fever dreams. Jarl Freyja consulted with her court mage, healers from Markarth, Windhelm and Riften, yet no one was able to help the child.

One of the College’s apprentices had informed Ahzidal of the Jarl’s situation and the Dragonpriest demanded to talk to Freyja and offer his help. He had left the College at once with two draugr covering his flank and asked to see the Jarl, when asked for the reason for his he explained that he would try to save the boy’s life. The guards were reluctant to let him in, but the Jarl’s brother Kjoldur ordered to let him enter at once. The two draugr escorting the Dragonpriest remained outside after a short order from their master.

Jarl Freya was furious when she saw who was accompanying her brother.

‘Why is he here? You should have known better then bringing him here.’ She spoke in her most authoritative voice, that she usually only reserved for disobeying subjects.

Kjoldur pleaded. ‘Freyja, please your son is dying and we have tried every healer from here to Markarth. Give him a chance.’ His sister could be so damn stubborn sometimes Kjoldur thought. Probably something she inherited from their mother.

Ahzidal had watched the argument with mild interest.  He cleared his throat, which sounded like old paper being torn apart and thrown away, and suddenly all eyes were on him. 

Kjoldur was the first one respond. ‘The patient is trough here.’

He escorted the Dragonpriest to a small bedroom that was dimly lit by a few candles. Ahzidal proceeded to float towards the bed and wasted no time examining the patient. He checked the child’s pulse and his breathing.  After a few minutes he floated towards a nearby alchemy lab and a started to mix different ingredients into a potion.  He then gave the potion to Jarl Freyja.  

‘Give the child one spoon of every day, he should feel better after a week.’ Ahzidal had been practicing every night on the Cyrodiilic language, and though he spoke with a clear dialect, the words were recognizable.

Jarl Freyja just nodded in response. She would do as he had said, but that didn’t mean she had to like him.

_Meanwhile outside._

The two draugr who had escorted Ahzidal were bored out of their minds. Why had the priest even ordered them to act as escorts? It wasn’t like he couldn’t defend himself.  

Some of the village’s children were playing outside when they saw Ahzidal and his escorts passing by. They had heard news of the new residents from their parents but were told not to approach them in any circumstances. But as any parent can tell you, children are curious and sometimes their curiosity wins it from fear.

The group of children were playing guards and bandits, a popular game that required them to divide into two groups. One group would pretend to be a vicious horde of bandits who were planning on ransacking Winterhold.  The other group was pretending to be guards of the hold who were tasked with defending the town from the bandits. They would even dress up in matching armor and carry wooden swords. It was after dividing everyone in groups that they noticed they were short of two players.

‘What should we do?  We can’t play without a bandit leader or a captain of the guard.’ A Nord child named Thorvald said.

‘We could ask one of the adults to play with us? My mother told me the Dragonborn used to play tag with her and her friends whenever he was in town.’ A Khaijiit child named Ashnaji said.

‘He isn’t around and all of the adults are probably too busy to play. Maybe we could ask those two standing by the Jarl’s house.’ An Orc child named Lormonk pointed to the two draugr who hadn’t moved an inch since Ahzidal left them.

‘I don’t know, my mom said they’re unnatural and that they shouldn’t be alive.’ Thorvald replied.

‘Let’s ask them anyway, or are you guys afraid of losing to a girl? Ashnaji taunted.

‘Fine, I’ll go and ask them right now.’ Lormonk said in his bravest tone but he didn’t feel so brave at all.

The two draugr noticed that one of the children separated from the group and was now walking in their general direction. The child stopped for a second, seemed to ponder over something and looked back at the group. Their shouts and encouraging words seemed to do the trick, the young Orc started walking again and soon found himself staring up to the faces of two very curious draugr.

‘Um, hi my friends and I were wondering if you would like to join us for a game of guards and bandits? You see, we’re two players short and then Ashnaji said I was a coward and they dared me to come over here.’ Lormonk voice skipped a few notes when he was talking, he  could only hope they understood everything he had just said.

The draugr looked at each other.

_‘Fos drey rok laan? What did he say?’_ The draugr on the left, a draugr Scourge looked to his partner, a draugr Deathlord in confusion.

The draugr Deathlord knew a few words of Cyrodiilic and responded to his friend’s questioning look.

_‘Rok laan ont aav niin ko delah zu'u lorot._ _He asked us to join them in their training I think.’_

_‘Pruzah zaak, niidro kosaan wah lingrah ruzun Zu'u lost grozein wah gor dii tuz ko vukein. A good idea, it's been too long since I had the chance to test my blade in combat.’_ The draugr Scourge seemed delighted at the chance to hone his skills.

The draugr Deathlord’s eyes darted to Lormonk. ‘We accept child, show us this enemy we must vanquish.’

Lormonk was slightly speechless, he didn’t dare ask what vanquish meant, but he was happy the two draugr had accepted his invitation.

He walked back to his friends with the two draugr tailing him. His friends were looking at the two newcomers with unbridled curiosity. Ashnaji was the first one to break the silence. ‘So who is going to be the leader of the bandits?’

The draugr Deathlord stepped forward, unsheathing his ebony greatsword and raised it in the air.  ‘I shall lead you into the battle, fear not, for the glory of Sovngarde awaits.’

The two groups finally had their leaders and thus the battle for Winterhold begun. 

 When Ahzidal left the Jarl’s longhouse fifteen minutes later, he found his two escorts exactly where he left them.

_‘Fos lost hi wah tal?  What have you to report?_ ’ He asked the two guards.

The Draugr Scourge shared a glance with his brother before replying to the Dragon priest.

_‘Zu'u grah voth dopaan do thunvu wo unt wah kuzol lohiim. I battled with a group of bandits who were trying to raid the town.’_

Ahzidal looked at the Draugr Scourge with a glimpse of confusion, he hadn’t heard any commotion and where were all the bodies? He shrugged it off, they had held off a bandit raid with the two of them, the least he could do was praise them for their quick handling of the situation.

_‘Pruzah kroson ney do hi. Good work both of you.’_

_Two weeks later._

Jarl Freyja’s son had recovered wonderfully after Ahzidal’s treatment, the child had managed to sit up straight after a few days and was able to eat solid food again. It seemed only fitting that she’d visit the one who had cured her son Svenrn. She visited the Dragonpriest at the College with a small group as her entourage that consisted of her brother, her court mage and her trusted Thane.

Her son Svenrn had begged to go with her and she had finally swayed under his constant pleas. Their arrival at the College hadn’t gone unnoticed, the apprentices and tutors greeted the Jarl and her companions with the utmost respect and in return Jarl Freyja inquired about their feelings towards the new Arch-Mage and how the College was doing in general.

Everyone seemed to be content about the new head of the College, after all Ahzidal had been a great enchanter in life and even in death, he was still amazing. He occasionally held classes about enchanting and every mage in the College was hanging on his lips, drinking in every word he said.  Many considered it a privilege to be taught by the first Nord enchanter and none were offended by his current state. One of the tutors had offered to escort Jarl Freyja and the others to the Arch-Mages personals quarters, which she had accepted.

It was a large room without any windows, and fairly undecorated, only the bare necessities were present. The bed was replaced with a solid stone coffin, which was covered in strange runes that Jarl Freyja recognized as dragon-runes. There were also several arcane enchanters present in the room and one alchemy lab. A few tapestries were hung against the walls, most of them depicting a tableau of dragons flying against an azure sky or a group of men performing a ritual of sorts.  It all felt like a tomb and Jarl Freyja guessed that was exactly what the Dragonpriest had wanted to achieve.

Ahzidal had received news that Winterhold’s Jarl would come to visit him and decided to look his best for this meeting. He wore his finest robes for the occasion, though anyone who spent a lot of time in his presence could tell you they looked exactly like all of his other robes. Ahzidal floated into the room and greeted the Jarl and her entourage with his usual raspy voice.  

‘What can I do for the Jarl of Winterhold and her entourage on this day?’

He noticed the Jarl’s son cowering behind his mother’s skirts. ‘Is the child alright?’

Jarl Freyja noticed her son’s reaction to the Dragonpriest and proceeded to calm him by gently stroking his head.

‘Forgive Svenrn, he is shy, but he recovered wonderfully after your treatment.’

‘Good. Is there anything else I can assist you with?’

‘No, but I owe you an apology, I was too stubborn to even give you a chance. Without you, my son would have died.’ Freyja bended down on one knee. ‘I am forever in your debt.  How can I ever repay you?’

Ahzidal paced back and forth or rather floated, after a few minutes he stopped this and spoke to Jarl Freyja.

‘The value of a human life cannot be measured in gold or other valuables, so there is nothing in this world that could ever repay this debt. For what can the living grant the dead that could give meaning to their empty twisted husks of life. He paused for a moment, as if he was pondering over the question. The answer is nothing, therefore, the debt is nonexistent.’

Jarl Freyja made a low bow as a sign of respect and gratitude.

‘I can see now why the Dragonborn had such faith in you as he did.  Will you allow me to invite you and your servants for a feast in honor of my son’s recovery?’

‘Though we require no nutrition’s of any kind, we will humbly accept you request as a sign of good will. May it strengthen the bonds between the College and the hold further.’ Ahzidal said, looking forward to his first banquet after he had risen from his tomb in Kolbjorn Barrow.

After each party had said their respectively goodbyes, peace once again descended over the College. Jarl Freyja had a banquet to prepare and Ahzidal needed to brief his entourage on the current situation.

He would need to decide which College’s tutors could join him for the banquet since it wouldn’t look good if he only brought his draugr servants with him. He had learned in the past that most people didn’t really open up to a bunch of undead. In order to further gain the thrust of his fellow denizens he would need to bring some living mortals with him. And so the choice fell upon the College’s three best scholars, who respectively taught the art of conjuration, destruction and restoration. The banquet had taken place a couple of days later and had occurred with a few incidents.

Ahzidal had been the talk of the evening, everyone wished to know how he had saved Jarl Freyja’s youngest son, if he enjoyed his new stature as Arch-Mage and what his plans were for the College in the near future. The Dragonpriest had answered each and every question with delight, it wasn’t every day when he found a new audience to regale with his tales. He had also told them of the time when he had aligned himself with Ysgramor and the Five Hundred Companions to retake Saarthal from the native Snow Elves. Everyone in the audience was hanging on his lips, imagining what a rich and extraordinary life the man must have lived and was still living.

His entourage didn’t go unnoticed either, the three scholars he had brought with him were trying to see which one of them was the most skilled in the arcane arts and were constantly trying to outmatch each other. The conjuration scholar, and elderly Breton man had been trying to summon an earth atronach, as  he believed that each element was represented by an atronach and was trying to summon one from the planes of Oblivion. He was rather surprised when the veil that separated the planes from the mortal word parted and instead of seeing an atronach he was standing face to face with a pissed off Dremora. He finally managed to banish the Deadra but at the cost of having his foot cut off.

Fortunately for him the restoration scholar, a female Dunmer had been looking for a volunteer to practice a spell that could attach a severed limb. She had managed to reattach the severed foot only to find out afterwards that she had put it on backwards. The Dunmer was trying to fix her mistake when her other colleague, the destruction tutor, a male Nord, had accidently torched her robes when he was showing off his flame cloak spell to a group of guests. He managed to douse the fire he had created by throwing a bucket of water over her but also soaked several other guests in the process. 

Ahzidal was both ashamed and angry that some of the College’s greatest minds had behaved so poorly but Jarl Freyja assured him that he didn’t need to apologize, no one had died after all.  And most of the guests had agreed that this banquet was the most interesting they had visited in some years.

Fortunately, his draugr servants had behaved excellently, they had even managed to train their sneaking skills with a group of experts or so they reported. In reality they had been playing hide and seek with Lormonk and his group of friends which so happened to be a great way to work on your skills. What the draugr didn’t know was that Ahzidal had spoken with Jarl Freyja after the so called bandit raid and she had laughingly said that Winterhold hadn’t seen a decent raid in twenty years, but perhaps he was referring to the game the local children often played, bandits and guards.

Her son Thorvald had confessed to her that he and his friends had invited the two draugr to join them in their game. Though her initial reaction was one of anger and shock, she quickly reassured herself that the Dragonpriest had promised that no one would be harmed during his stay here, and had he not treated her youngest son’s fever moments ago?

She had asked Ahzidal’s opinion on the matter and he had expressed some concerns but they both agreed that as long as the children and their parents didn’t mind and the draugr didn’t slack off on their responsibilities they could continue their games.

To an outsider it would have seemed strange to see the undead interact with the living in such a casual way, but the people of Winterhold had come to accept it as a way of life and had learned to embrace their unusual neighbors. This was the legacy that the Dragonborn had left them and Ahzidal had further built on.

_Present day._

Today was the final day, the Dragonborn would leave the mortal realm and join the heroes of old in the halls of Sovngarde. His beloved wife Lydia had known in her heart that this day would come one day, her only regret was that she couldn’t join her husband yet. She kept herself busy by making preparations for the ceremony that would take place during sundown. At that moment the Dragonborn would bid his friends farewell and depart to the eternal realm where he would sit at Shor’s table along with the other Nord heroes.

Lydia had planned their final day together carefully to make sure that it would take her husband’s mind off his upcoming death.

They started their day by going for a stroll in the city they had come to know and love, Whiterun had and always will be their true home. There was Gildergreen, the tree that had once fallen prey to sickness and rot until the Dragonborn had ventured out to find the Eldergleam's sap, the only cure to restore the tree to its former glory. They passed the hall of Jorrvaskr, where anyone with a spirit for adventure and kinship could join. The Jarl’s palace stood just up the hill, a great wooden structure that once held the great dragon Numinex and were the Dragonborn had captured another dragon called Odahviing. 

Lydia had arranged that they could picnic on the balcony of the palace, where they had a beautiful wide view of the valley surrounding Whiterun.  After the picnic the couple resumed their walk through the city. They occasionally stopped by one of the market stalls to admire the goods or to converse with the stall’s owner.

They visited Breezehome last, the Dragonborn had expressed the desire to see his home for the last time and wished to change into his ceremonial armor, which he had handcrafted himself at the Skyforge. It looked similar to deadric armor but it was as light as a feather and it was smoother around the edges.  He looked around one last time, this house had meant so much to him and Lydia, it was a shame that he would have to leave it all behind. Lydia gently tapped his shoulder, it was time for the ceremony. She wore a simple white gown instead of her usual steel armor.

The two hold guards standing at the main gate greeted the Dragonborn and his companion with their usual remarks. The guard on the left remarked that it was a damn shame that the Dragonborn had never managed to catch that tenacious sweetroll thief, his colleague nodded in response. The couple shook their heads, hold guards would never change. They went through the main gate, followed the path down and past the stables towards an open clearing where the rocks and grass had been removed and white flowers petals had been scattered over the clearing. The path towards the clearing had torches standing on both ends and more flowers petals were laying on the path.

Many of the Dragonborn’s friends were standing on either side of the path to greet him for the last time. To his left he saw Cicero holding his son on his left arm and holding his daughter’s hand with his right. Babette, Nazir and some of the new recruits were standing on Cicero’s right, a couple of foot away, hoping nobody would think they were acquainted. Lucien Lachance and Shadowmere were standing behind the main group. They would continue to serve the Dark Brotherhood and Sithis as they had always done. The companions were standing next to the group of assassins and were bashing their shields with their swords as a greeting to their Harbinger. Aela and her son Skjor came forward and bowed to the Dragonborn, in response he handed Ysgramor’s axe to Skjor, as a symbol that he stepped down from his position as Harbinger and that Skjor would now become the next leader of the Companions. They exchanged a few words and then the Dragonborn moved on to the next group, the thief’s guild that consisted of Brynjolf, Karliah, their daughter and some recruits, who honored their leader with an old tradition by throwing septims as he and Lydia passed by.

A dozen or so dragons were standing on the right of the path, many of whom had heard word of the Dragonborn’s illness and had come to show their respects to the one who had slain Alduin the world eater in battle. Paarthunax was the first one to greet the Dragonborn, as was his right as oldest and wisest amongst the Dovah. Next to him was Odahviing, one of the few Dovah whom the Dragonborn recognized as a true friend. The dragon next to Odahviing was Durnehviir, who had been trapped in the Soul Cairn for centuries until the Dragonborn had managed to find a way to free him from his enslavement by the Ideal Masters. Durnehviir made a vow of loyalty before the one who had freed him from his shackles. He had enjoyed his regained freedom and roamed the skies of Tamriel as he had done before his enslavement. Many of the Dovah shunned him for pursuing the forbidden art of Necromancy but one amongst them treated him as an equal, the dragon known as Odahviing. The two of them had become friends and occasionally flew and hunted together, something highly unusual amongst the solitary Dovah.

Paarthunax nodded, a universal signal for the other Dovah that it was time for the ceremony to commence. The dragons formed a large closed circle with the Dragonborn in the center of it. The other humans were standing a few feet away from the circle, as they were advised not to interrupt the ceremony under any circumstances. In order for the Dragonborn to enter the Hall of Valor they would need to separate his soul from his mortal body. It was ironic that they used a shout similar to the infamous Dragonrend that was created by Man for the fighting of their draconic masters. Paarthunax was the first one to unleash the power of his thu'um and the other Dovah quickly joined in.

‘ _Joor zah unslaad, mortal finite unending’_ , it was a constant mantra that droned around in the Dragonborn’s head, he feared that the combined strength of the Dovah thu’um would tear him apart if he had to undergo it any longer. And then suddenly he couldn’t feel anything anymore, it felt like a heavy burden being removed from his shoulders. He opened his eyes and noticed he was still standing in the circle as before, yet when he tried to touch his face, nothing happened. In confusion he looked at his hand which had become see-trough, as had the rest of his body, had he become a ghost or an apparition? And then the strangest sensation overcame him, it felt like someone or something was pulling at him, a force of nature that couldn’t be resisted. He looked around one last time, and his eyes made contact with Lydia who was smiling, though inside she was crying, she didn’t want the last thing her husband would see was her tears. The Dragonborn looked up to the starry sky above him and for a moment he could have sworn he heard a voice, no more than a whisper and then it was gone. He imagined himself sitting in the Hall of Valor, drinking mead with the other Nord heroes. He closed his eyes and smiled. When he opened them again he was standing inside a great hall, people were standing in groups talking with one and another, he looked around and saw a great table which seemed to nearly collapse under the weight of the food and drinks there were standing upon it. He had visited Sovngarde once before and immediately recognized the Hall of Valor, so this would be his life from now on, there were worse things than to spend your afterlife drinking and eating.

Yet he couldn’t shake a feeling. Just before he was transported to Sovngarde he had heard a voice, one that sounded oddly familiar and had said: _Erei Ruz Tiid_ _Dovahkiin,_ _until we meet again Dovahkiin_. Ysgramor came up to the Dragonborn and offered him a pint of cold mead, and he had forgotten the prophetic words, for now he would enjoy his new life to the fullest and hoped Lydia would join him soon in Sovngarde, where the spirits of the Nord heroes live on.

 


End file.
